Daylight
by Mrs. Naara
Summary: Three times she "escaped" from a prison before she reunited with her true love. IMPORTANT BACKSTORY FOR CHAPTER 21 of THE IMPOSSIBLE TRUTH INSIDE. Review Please!


**A/N: I know, I know! Chapter 21 will be out soon, I promise! But this is a very _very_ important backstory that will play INTO chapter 21. **

**Daylight**

**Description: **Three times she "escaped" from a prison before she reunited with her true love.

Three times she "escaped" from a prison before she reunited with her true love…

The first time was nearly two years after the "fated" kiss she had shared with the dark one himself, Rumpelstiltskin.

The response she had received after her daring act was anything _but _pleasant. He called her a traitor, claiming that the queen had turned her against him. She hadn't thought to identify the woman she had met on the road with the "queen" he had termed her as during his rage attack. In truth, it was that woman who had ultimately settled her verdict to return home to the dark castle.

He had shouted at her with dark eyes and a contrarily abysmal tone of voice. Belle could still feel his piercing fingernails in her arms and his irate saliva on her face. It wasn't rational that she had to be cast out of the place she had made her home over the past year—the dwelling where she had grown to know and ultimately fall in love with Rumpelstiltskin.

When he "let her go", she "borrowed" a few handfuls of his golden thread from the spinning room. She shoved it wherever she could. In her corset, her apron, and even her shoes (no matter how uncomfortable it made walking). After leaving the "rather large estate" she promptly began her excursion to her kingdom. No matter how she longed to, however, she found it impossible to call it home any longer.

Most nights she slept in low-cost lodgings or on tavern benches, carefully rationing her money. She would speak of her time in the dark castle to alacritous drunks and tenants of small villages. Once she even gave counsel to an infatuated dwarf. She would frequently tell fibs about developing magic during her period with the dark one. Sometimes she would even use Rumpelstiltskin's name as intimidation to get a pint here or a meal there.

The journey itself took two fortnights, but as she neared her old home, the tactics she used the previous weeks no longer succeeded, because her affiliations had registered her as an "untouchable" by most standards. Anyone with knowledge of her whereabouts, and the condition she had been in during the past year would avoid her like she had contracted an incurable disease. When she finally reached the castle, she asked the whereabouts of Gaston. No one wanted to answer to her inquiry and it made her cross. With her increased stealth skills, she snuck around. A month after her return she discovered from a couple of gossiping servants that her ex- fiancé had vanished a month after she had left with the notorious deal-maker, and it was then that she put the two and two together to make four parts of the truth.

Gaston was dead, and it was entirely her fault.

As "castigation" for her relationship with Rumpelstiltskin, she was locked away in a tall tower. Suddenly, she felt like a princess of similar circumstance to another she had heard of once. The ironic part was that she had heard the story from the very man that had put her in this situation. What had the girl's name been? Rachel? Rebecca? Robin? Randi? Roberta? Oh, right. Her name had been Rapunzel, the legendary young woman with hundreds upon hundreds of feet of golden hair. Hundreds of feet of hair that had to be washed and braided after Rumpelstiltskin had returned home from a two week long journey with it slung over his shoulder. Unfortunately for her, she had been the one to do the washing.

Belle spent most of her time slumped against the gray stone walls of her tower, hiding in the shadows. There was a lone window that brought light in when the sun was up, and that cast an ominous glow on the rock floor when the moon was out. She used a sharp rock to keep track of the days she spent in the tower, though she wasn't entirely sure that it was an accurate tally for every few days, two men in black cloaks would come through the window, armed with torches and knives. Belle had nowhere to run, and she had no way to escape the burns they inflicted on her hands and feet. Her hands quickly became bright red and covered with sores and blisters. She would be unconscious for days at a time as a result of this, and as soon as the painful injuries began to recede, the men would return—claiming that unless they burned her hands off entirely, she would never be "cleansed". Belle was dismayed at the name they gave the torture they inflicted upon her. It was a cruel and gratuitous in her opinion. But no one gave a damn about what she thought any longer. Sometimes she wished that the men in the cloaks would just slit her throat and end her life already. But the torture continued incessantly, and to Belle—that was worse than death.

From time to time _his_ voice would ring persistently in her head as she thought about her eventual bereavement.

"_Or this is __**all you,**__ being the hero and killing the beast."_

"_No! This means it is true love!" _

"_SHUT UP!"_

"_Why don't you believe me?"_

"_SHUT THE HELL UP!"_

He had been right the whole time of course. It was her entire fault. She had to be the brave little hero to save her kingdom. Now she was paying for it.

But hadn't Rumpelstiltskin been the one to tell her that love was the most powerful magic of all? She was still in love with him, beast or not. Maybe her inability to die revolved around that.

Or maybe she'd been locked up far too long to be considered healthy.

She stood at the window of the tower and peered down at the burnt grass below. Her hands tightened against the stones by themselves, and her eyes shut as tightly as she could make them. A tear rolled down her cheek, as she took in a shaky gasp. She put her right foot up on the ledge, and then the left foot, crouched down and beheld the heavenly bottom that would grant her freedom. She muttered an apology under her breath, hoping that it would reach the man she intended it for. As she readied herself to jump, a high pitched laugh filled the room.

"_You're going to jump,"_ a familiar high-pitched voice followed. Belle's eyes shot open and she turned to see the very man she hoped to never see again.

"_Thank you for stating the obvious,"_ she growled. He was a hallucination—she knew it.

"_I wouldn't care one way or the other, dearie, it's not like I've given a passing thought to you since…well, you know,"_ he giggled maniacally. Belle gritted her teeth and got off the ledge, making her way into the shadows and pointing a finger into the hallucination's chest. He felt tremendously existent, and it made her physically sick to her stomach. Her head pounded agonizingly and her brave stance left her as rapidly as it had come. She sunk to the ground and began bawling hysterically. All of a sudden, a pair of strong arms hoisted her up. She didn't protest. Belle could feel stairs under her feet and eventually she was thrown on the ground, the unfamiliar texture of the dark brown grass welcoming her. Was she dead? Had she jumped?

"_What happened to her hands?"_ a woman's voice asked. Belle recognized that voice. However, she refused to put a face to the voice because of the fear building rapidly in her chest.

"_It's a long story your highness."_ Belle knew she wasn't dead; the voices were too real for her to be. She closed her eyes and felt her arms being restrained with rope. _Why did he refer to the woman as "Your highness?" _She thought fleetingly. Belle longed to open her eyes, to see if it was the same woman she had met on the road so long ago.

"_Nothing a small amount of magic can't fix I suppose,"_ the woman's voice said. _"She will be useless to me if her hands are."_ Belle opened her eyes and saw black high-heeled leather boots, as well as a matching leather cloak. Belle was elevated to her feet and shoved forward with to some degree with a sharp object in her back.

"_Move it girl!" _a livid voice bellowed. Belle was heaved onto a wooden cart that was painted as black as everything else in the train of carts and carriages; she could feel and smell hay underneath her. The cart began to move shortly after. She had no idea where she was going or who was taking her—all she knew is that she was being watched by the stunned citizens as the queen's convoy moved in the direction of its terminus.

* * *

><p>Her new domicile was very unlike her former residence to say in the least. It was much larger that the tower for one thing. However, it may have had something to do with the fact that she shared her enclosure with two others.<p>

One of them was a skinny man with a large top hat. He liked to speak in riddles, which confused Belle a great deal. The one she heard the most was _"How is a raven like a writing desk?"_ Belle immediately gave him a different answer every time he asked; _"I can only assume that it is because they are both frequently found by black ink,"_ she had told him one time. He frequently lived in his own psyche; ranting about how they would cut off his head should he defy the queen, among other things. During the time where he behaved like this his fulsome eyes stared into her blue orbs, searching for something. The interaction, as well as the performance would end suddenly when he didn't find whatever he was searching for. She couldn't tell what color his eyes were exactly, but he was as fanatical (if not more so in some respects) as the imp she had fallen in love with. From that moment on, to him she was Imp—and to her he was Hatter.

An older woman was there also, she never spoke or ate. She was a stout woman with wild gray curls. She smelled funny, and Belle made sure to stay as far away as she could. The only thing she had ever heard from the hag was the occasional snore and some multifaceted gabbling. At one point in time, Belle suspected at one point that the old woman was lifeless. When she went to determine this for certain, her assumption was proven wrong by a lurid snort from the gray haired lady. She shrieked at full volume and hid in the corner of the cell for two days. Hatter had laughed maniacally at her for a while after that.

She told him of Rumpelstiltskin—and her year in his dark castle. In return, Hatter told her of Alice, his long lost daughter. He explained that she was only one who could truly answer his infamous riddle, _"How is a raven like a writing desk?"_ In return, Belle told him the story of her first day in Rumpelstiltskin's abode, the day his quip startled her to a point where she had dropped one of his teacups and chipped the rim. _"It's just a cup…"_ Hatter had said to her. It emulated the very tone Rumpelstiltskin had used when he spoke that very quote the day it actually happened.

Belle cried for hours after that.

Over time, Hatter and Belle used small stones knocked loose from the floor to draw out an intricate plan of escape on the back wall by their mattresses, should the opportunity ever arise for them to run. They agreed on the old troll bridge as a meeting place if they were separated. The code word to signify their intentions was Raven. Belle liked to refer to this escape plan as Operation Writing Desk. Hatter grew paranoid one time that the old woman was a spy of the queen—and if she were to ever find out about their plan it would be _"off with our heads"_ as he had told her. Belle reassured him that they had nothing to fear, considering that the queen _not once_ had visited the dungeons, and that their plan was safe.

The plan was organized as such;

Should the doors ever be left open or unlocked, Belle and Hatter would check to make sure that the coast was clear. Upon her arrival, Belle had noticed a barred window on the opposite end of the dungeon hallway from the stairs. Hatter had a razor sharp playing card in the ribbon on his hat which he would use to cut into the bars. From there, one of them would break the window and they would run for it. Once they had reached safe haven in the enchanted forest, she would call for Rumpelstiltskin. That was, if he still remembered her. If not, they'd keep running.

The two of them perfected this plan in a month's time. But as the days and weeks passed by, painstakingly slow of course, Belle began to wonder if the chance to escape would ever come. Hatter gave never gave up hope though.

And then the day came. As Belle braided the straw in her mattress absentmindedly, and Hatter hummed a mindless tune while doing the same, a loud creak was heard—and the entrance to their cell opened as if by magic. Hatter and Belle exchanged confused glances before scrambling to their feet and running to the cage door. As they were about to abscond, both of their gazes fell on the old woman sleeping in the corner.

"_What should we do with her, Imp?" _Hatter had asked her. Belle turned to the old woman. She was conflicted as to what they ought to do about her. She faced Hatter with a somber expression on her features.

"_We need to go…" _she replied firmly. _"Our window of opportunity could not be bigger than it is right at this moment…" _Hatter gaze a final glace to the old woman, and turned back to Belle. He nodded, knowing that she spoke the truth. By debating this, it would only make the window smaller. They exited the cell and made their way toward the opposite end of the dungeon from the stairs that led down into it. Belle hoisted Hatter up onto the shelf of a window at the very end of the hallway—and he used a card in his hat to cut the bars on said window. He crawled through and smashed the glass behind it with his elbow. The glass cut his jacket and the shirt under it—but nevertheless, he was through. He reached a hand down for Belle to climb up and through the destroyed bars. The plan was working just as they had intended it.

It was too good to be true and it concerned Belle to a great extent.

Both of them made their way into the intense daylight—the sun smoldering their eyes, but in a way that neither of them minded. They ran across the grounds, Hatter a little behind Belle. She turned to make sure that he was still there, right as an arrow flew through the air and hit Hatter in the shoulder. He fell onto the ground with a painful yell, clutching the weapon in his shoulder.

"_Hatter!"_ Belle cried, falling on her knees at his side and examining his body.

"_Imp, you need to go! I can handle this!" _he yelled, wincing as the pain took a toll on him.

"_I'm not leaving you, Hatter!" _she said.

"_NO! You have to go through with the plan, quickly before…" _it was too late. Belle was grabbed by two men in knight's armor and pulled to her feet. She tried to pull away, but they were too strong. She yelled and struggled more so than she had since she had been put in the tower. Two other knights joined them and pulled the arrow out of Hatter's shoulder. He cried out in pain as they hoisted him up and restrained him like they had with Belle.

"_Looks like it was a mistake to put these two in the same cell after all,"_ the queen's voice sounded. All four knights bowed before the woman who sported black and red everywhere—from the black leather of her trousers, all the way to the red lace on her hat. _"See to it that this doesn't happen again…"_

"_Yes majesty…" _all four armored men said simultaneously. The queen left after that. From what Belle had been told after her recapture—Hatter had been killed for conspiring against the queen, by a guillotine none the less—how sardonic.

Sometimes she wondered why the queen hadn't killed her as well.

* * *

><p>The second time Belle escaped from the clutches of the evil queen was when her stone cell became a padded one, the bars that allowed her to see other prisoners became a cast iron door with a tiny window. Her tattered and sullied clothing became a light blue hospital gown. She didn't know what had occurred in the amount of time after being locked up again. The only things Belle truly recollected prior to the "transformation" was a loud roll of thunder, the sky outside of her cell window growing dark, and a strange feeling in her gut that something was not right.<p>

And then she was no longer Belle, or dearie, or Imp.

She existed and filled the body of a woman named Lorne French, the girl who was admitted to the "psychiatric" ward of Storybrooke's hospice by her father, Moe French, at the age of 18 when she had been discovered with a noose in her bedroom. She remembered making things in school, and being friends with a little boy named Harry. She recalled her first boyfriend, her first kiss, everything a typical girl was expected to remember about her life. The peculiar part wasn't the memories that her brain registered as hers. The part that didn't quite make sense was that she didn't remember aging at all. In fact, aside from the basics, she really didn't remember much at all. On occasion she would have dreams of her conversing with a man. He had greenish gold skin, crimped hair and dark eyes. His high pitched and always somewhat sarcastic voice was hard to forget. She determined that the memories of Lorne French's were fake ones. Either that, or she wasn't actually Lorne French. Both sets of memories existed in her mind, one deep in her consciousness, (or at least—what was left of it), and one set at the forefront. She utterly refused to believe anything that they told her about being "Lorne French". With constant "treatment" she began to fall into a slump. The nurses at the hospital had sedated her so many times that there was a permanent needle mark in her right bicep. Slowly but surely the set of memories in the back of her mind became hazier and hazier until eventually, the golden man was nothing but a hollow vision. She didn't know who he was, and she most certainly didn't know why he was in her mind.

The "mayor" came to visit every once in a while—sometimes she would tell Lorne of memories she was supposed to have. Birthday parties, learning to drive a car, a young man named Gabe. Other times the woman would intimidate her by glaring through the rectangular window in her cell door. Lorne would hear the sound of the window being opened, and she would look up in time to see the woman's evil smirk before the window closed until her next visit.

A new nurse was hired to watch her every move as she became more and more unsteady. The unnatural amount of anesthetic (among other sedative like medications) in her system had rendered her psychologically unsound. The nurse would talk to her sometimes when she brought her pills and her meals into the cell. Lorne didn't respond to her, she wouldn't touch the things on the tray until after the nurse left the room. Sometimes she would eat the off-white slush in the bowl ravenously—other times she'd leave it for the family of mice that was thriving in the far opposite corner.

Soon enough, they stopped sedating her. Things began to change slowly, and another person joined her in the cell once a week. The mayor called him "Dr. Hopper", and he was supposed to "help her" get over the mentally unstable nature that she had developed during her time in this cell. She was skeptical that the mayor had hired a guy to ask about the memories that she was sure were fake—but soon enough, she began to answer him.

"_Why do you think you are here?"_ he asked her during each one of their meetings. She shrugged her shoulders most times, not making eye contact with the psychologist.

"_I don't know. I was told it's because I'm crazy," _she said simply and quickly at their tenth meeting. He smiled at her after she said that. He would ask her about her dreams, the ones she had while in something called "REM sleep"—as well as her ambitions (not that she had any to begin with). At his request, she began to develop desires that she wanted uphold, one of which was to find the gold skinned man in her dream.

She didn't tell him about that though.

Dr. Hopper became a man that Lorne wanted to trust. He explained to her and the nurses that they were making progress, and eventually she might be released. But the mayor wouldn't let him do so for a reason that she wouldn't disclose to him.

At another one of her private sessions with Dr. Hopper, he gifted her with a thick hardcover book. The intricate design on the front read _"Complete Poems and Stories of Edgar Allen Poe"_ along with a package of pens and a notebook.

"_Lorne, now that we are making progress, I wanted to give you this book of poems and stories. This notebook and pen are for you to write and draw your thoughts on the literature in the book. Every week I would like to see a new thought in your book—and we can discuss what inspired you to write these things," _he had told her as she examined the books and pens. She had given him a hug as a sign of gratitude to him. It was the first physical interaction she had shared with another individual since…well she couldn't remember the last time she had embraced _anyone_.

Her first entry in the notebook was about the poem "Alone".

_From Childhood's hour I have not been_

_As others were; I have not seen_

_As others saw; I could not bring_

_My passions from the common spring._

_From the same source I have not taken_

_My sorrow; I could not awaken_

_My heart to joy at the same tone;_

_And all I loved, I loved alone._

_Then-in my childhood, in the dawn_

_Of a most stormy life-was drawn_

_From every depth of good and ill _

_The mystery which binds me still;_

_From the torrent, or the fountain,_

_From the red cliff of the mountain,_

_From the sun that round me rolled_

_In its autumn tint of gold, _

_From the lightning in the sky_

_As it passed me flying by._

_From the thunder and the storm,_

_And the cloud that took the form_

_(When the rest of Heaven was blue)_

_Of demon in my view._

She spent more time in the sunlight nowadays. It streamed through the window, and she worked on getting some light every chance she got. She read the Poe book cover to cover several times, doggy earing the pages-always adding to her summaries and feelings about the works. Her favorite, "Alone" stayed that way, because no matter what else she read—that one spoke to her continually. She became a little bit (but not much) more optimistic about things. She still _despised_ the idea that she was being locked up.

One day after her session with Dr. Hopper, she noticed that the door didn't make its typical sound to signify that it had been locked. As soon as the nurse and the psychologist had left the vicinity, she got off of the stone ledge that she had been sitting on for who knows how long. She certainly didn't know. Belle pushed her hands against the metal gently, and the door swung open with a creak. Lorne peeked out into the concrete hallway and saw that the coast was clear. She looked to the left of her cell door and saw a staircase, leading to a door at the top. Clutching her notebook to her chest she ran from the cell, her bare feet smacking against the icy rock floor. She climbed the stairs to the doorway at the top, pushing it open and stepping into the alleyway. She could see the sunlight at the end of the alley, and she made her way toward it. As she was stepped out into the light though—she saw Archie, walking a dog. Fear built in her chest as he stopped to talk to someone. She was frightened that she would be seen, so she ran back to the door she had come out of, and back to her cell. It wasn't until after she closed and locked the door that she realized that she had dropped her notebook on the sidewalk outside.

"_Someone found this outside of the hospital," _Archie told her during their session the following week. He held out her notebook for her to take. She took the book from him and set it next to her. _"Running isn't the answer, Lorne,"_ he said. _"Don't deny that you escaped briefly…"_ Tears formed in her eyes and she bit her lower lip.

"_I saw you on the street, and I came back here._" She admitted after a moment. _"It felt so good to be free again though! I wrote all about it on the blank cover in the back of my Poe book,"_ Archie picked up her book and opened the back cover. His eyes scanned the writing from behind his glasses. He looked up at her and set the book down on the ledge next to him. He took his glasses off and stared her in the eye—his voice grew soft, in case someone was listening in.

"_Look. I'm going to help you, but you can't tell anyone about this. Next week—when I come for my visit, I will leave the door open intentionally. You are to run. Go to Mr. Gold's pawn shop. It is the closest place to the hospital that will be open."_ Lorne gasped.

* * *

><p>And the plan for her third and final escape was set into motion.<p>

As he promised, Archie showed up on time to their appointment the following week. In his arms he had a set of light blue hospital scrubs and a cheap pair of flip flops. He told her to change in the corner quickly, so that they could talk once more before she left for good. She returned to the ledge in her new garb, the clean cloth nice against her skin. She sat next to him again.

"_You remember the plan, correct?" _he said, taking her books under his arm. Lorne nodded.

"_And you'll remember to return my notebook, right?" _Lorne retorted with a chuckle.

"_It'll be the first thing I'll do after I know you're safe," _he said seriously.

They spent the rest of the hour in silence, Belle going through her notebook and reading her favorite entries. She folded over the pages that she liked the most, and tore the page about "Alone" out entirely, while Archie fed a small piece of cheese to the mouse family. She shoved it in her bra, hoping that it would be safe until she was.

Then the moment came. Archie turned to leave with her books in his arms. He glanced at her one last time before disappearing from the cell, making sure that the door didn't lock behind him. His footsteps got quieter and quieter, until finally—she was sure that he was gone. She got off the ledge and made her way to the door—pushing it open like she had the first time. Her feet carried her right to the door, and outside. It was pouring rain outside, and Lorne was drenched as soon as she got out of the alley way.

"_Mr. Gold's shop is five blocks west of the hospital. Just go into the shop."_ Lorne recalled Archie telling her when they had first planned her escape. She didn't know how far a block was—but she could only assume that it wasn't far. She ditched her flip-flops after a few minutes of running. They were no help to her. The rain didn't cease as she moved. Finally she saw the shop in question. She ran up to the door, but much to her dismay—the door was locked. She saw a man bent over the counter inside. She couldn't tell what he was doing exactly—but she needed in. She began banging her fists on the door.

"Hello? Hello? I know you're in there!" she yelled. "Please let me in!" she watched the man look up at her. She continued knocking until he grabbed a cane from behind him. He limped to the door and unlocked it. The door swung open and he stared at her, a look of disbelief on his face.

"I'm sorry dearie, but I've closed up shop for the evening," he said after a moment. Lorne stared at him, and came up with a story in her head.

"Please sir… she'll find me! I finally escaped that horrid place!" Lorne cried, grabbing the lapels on his jacket. "Please, let me come in for just a moment, I promise I'll leave whenever you like, just for a moment, please!" she begged. He sighed and all of a sudden his hand was on her elbow and she was being pulled inside.

"You need to hide, now!" he said sternly, pointing his cane to a cabinet against the back wall. She stumbled over to back and hid, right as a set of headlights passed the store. The man watched out the window for a moment. After a set of headlights passed the shop he turned to face Lorne. He waved his index finger to beckon her. As she approached him he asked, "Your name dearie?" She swallowed as she stood in front of him.

"Lorne…Lorne French," she said, fear in her voice. "But that's…all I remember really, I've been in that horrid place for so long…I don't…" she looked up at him—and after a moment of examining his appearance, she realized exactly who this man was…

It was the golden man from her dreams.

**A/N: Review plz!**


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